One of my many New Years Resolutions was to lose weight. Actually, if I’m being honest, that one has been topping my list every year since my son was born. I like to tell people that I haven’t lost the baby weight from our youngest child, but then quickly follows the awkward question:
“oh, how old is your baby?”
BUT, this IS the year I do it. 2012 is my year! Bob from The Biggest Loser will tell you to take it one day at a time, because if you look at how far you really have to go, you’ll give up before you even start. I’m trying to take that advice, and also to figure out how I got here in the first place (making babies aside). The good news is that my slim coach says I’m on track to meeting the goal I set for myself this year.
The weather is getting nicer and it’s not too hot yet, so I decided to take my exercise outside the house yesterday. I think it is safe to say that self-esteem is one of my big issues, so to venture outside and work out is a major undertaking for me. I’m convinced everyone is watching me, judging me, making fun of me. Yeah, like I said, I have some issues. I’ve convinced myself though that if I look down, and don’t make eye contact that I’m invisible. Coincidentally, if I could have one superpower, it would be invisibility, so there ya go. What can I say, I keep my therapist busy.
I decide I can handle 30 minutes of exercise. I’ve been doing 20 minutes pretty consistently, and I decide I need to stretch myself a bit. Plus, changing up the routine is supposed to keep you from getting bored. Keeping it fresh and interesting is supposed to help you stick with it. The jury is still out on that one. I loathe exercise. I don’t feel energized afterwards. Endorphins? What the heck are those? Even when I was thin, I hated exercise. It’s a necessary evil, I think accepting that I’ll never love it, is the key to my potential success. Plus, I found something that feels worse than exercise, and that is being overweight. I hope you understand my dilemma. I guess it comes down to which one I hate more. Right now, exercise looks more appealing, which is a testament to how far I’ve come in recent months. A 30 minute walk may not seem like much to most people, but when you are carrying an extra 100 lbs, it’s excruciating work. I feel like I’ve been walking for days, I’m sweating and I’m huffing and puffing (but I couldn’t blow a house down right now). I turn around to look how far I’ve gone, I can still see the mailbox. It’s been 1 minute. Oh boy. 82 degrees suddenly feels like 102 degrees. My face is hot, so I know its bright red. Just keep moving forward, one step in front of the other. Maybe it’s just me, but I think cars slow down as they drive past me. Okay, it’s probably just me. More than likely. Right? Yes, of course, I’m being silly. At some point, I begin to feel a little dizzy, and I look ahead of me and I’m pretty sure I see my husband. Is it hot enough to see a mirage? Am I about to pass out? I squint? No, it’s not him. Wait, yes it is. What is he doing out here? Maybe I’m not walking. Maybe I’ve passed out from exertion and I’m dreaming this whole sequence of events. I pinch myself. It hurt. I must be awake. I squint in the direction of the man walking toward me again, it still looks like my husband. Weird. I find myself a bit annoyed, he was supposed to wait till I got back home before he went for his run. He couldn’t wait 30 minutes? At this point, I have a little internal argument with myself on whether I should be pissed or not that he followed me when I realize that I’m actually close enough to see him now. He’s definitely not my husband. He’s bald and grey. He’s in good shape, but he’s definitely got 20 years on my husband. Plus, he’s wearing a t-shirt. That really should have been my first clue that it wasn’t my husband. He runs shirtless (naturally). Wow. I really am tired. This walk can’t end soon enough.
I finally make it home, grab a water bottle, and crawl up the stairs where I collapse on the floor of my bedroom under the ceiling fan, breathing quite heavily. Hubby is standing there (shirtless) preparing to go for his run now. I feel briefly guilty for the bad thoughts I had about him earlier, but that just makes me more surly, so I shoot him a dirty look instead. He is naturally confused by my sudden hostility, and looks at me quizzically. I roll my eyes, further annoyed by the fact that he’s not more sensitive to my inner turmoil. Then he makes it worse for himself by asking if I enjoyed my walk. Dude, I’m lying on the floor in the fetal position, sweat pouring off of me in buckets, and I can’t even talk and my hostility is literally rolling off of me in waves and you ask me if I enjoyed my walk?!??!?!?!?!?!!? He wisely ducks out of the room while I try to move objects with my mind to throw at him. Poor guy. He never stood a chance.
I’m pretty sure this is what I looked like on my walk
And I’m equally sure this is what my husband looks like when he runs
Surely, you can understand my resentment. By the time he comes back from his run, I’m nearly recovered. I’ve at least made it downstairs in the upright position. He walks in and he’s glowing with a sweaty sheen reminiscent of Edward’s glitter moment in the Twilight movies. I sigh in disgust. He asks “what?” I ignore him. He’s barely even breathing hard. Bastard.
I should note here that clearly the problem is mine. My husband is fully supportive of all my crazy weight loss efforts and schemes. He finds me beautiful today, right now in this moment. He has never made me feel ugly or fat. My problems and issues with my weight are mine alone, and even though he often takes the brunt of my frustration, he is never the cause of it. He works very hard to look good and feel great, and I never want to take that away from him because I don’t feel the same. I’ve had people in my life that have made me feel self-conscious about my weight, or have made my weight an issue, but he is not one of them, and for that I will never be able to thank him enough. His support means everything to me. So honey, next time I bite your head off for no reason, may you remember this post and take comfort. But seriously, do you have to glow? Is that really necessary? Can you not at least fake exhaustion? For me? Just once?!?!?! Oh and hey, I bought your favorite ice cream again (I’m not above sabotage, don’t judge me).
To be continued….